


They'd Banish Us You Know

by CherieAmour



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Classism, Depression, Divorce, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry-centric, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of past Harry Styles/OFC, Not Underage, Older Harry, Self-Acceptance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Younger Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherieAmour/pseuds/CherieAmour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an extremely bitter divorce battle, real estate attorney, Harry Styles, temporarily moves back into his parents' home in an attempt to get his life back together. He wasn't anticipating, however, developing  some unexpected feelings for his eccentric step-brother, Louis, whom he hasn't seen in eight years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> I just needed to clarify a few things:
> 
> 1\. This story is going to deal with a lot of heavy stuff - angst, real life issues like divorce and depression, etc. BUT please don't let that fool you into believing this is going to just be a sad fic with an unhappy ending \- I promise you it's not! It's going to have it's happy, sad, and fun moments like any other story. I just wanted to warn any potential readers who might be going through some of that stuff in their own lives that it could be triggering.
> 
> 2\. I'm hesitant to tag anything as 'incest' because Harry and Louis are NOT related in this story and did NOT grow up as brothers, nor do they have that type of a bond. It's kind of my personal opinion, tbh. Plus, I have a very clear idea of how this story is going to play out with their family dynamic, so that's another reason I'm not tagging it as that.
> 
> 3.This is a chaptered fic and my goal is to update at least every other week. I'll continue to update the tags as if I feel needed or if it's suggested.
> 
> Anyway, as always, this is for entertainment purposes only and is a complete work of fiction. I don't own any members of One Direction, unfortunately.
> 
> I'm still fairly new to AO3 and trying to grow as a writer, so for anyone who takes the time to read this, I sincerely hope you enjoy it! I apologize for any grammatical errors in advance and feedback is always appreciated :)

The alarm had gone off but it's effects were too late. Harry was already awake, staring solemnly into glow of the red, LED numbering, that now suggested he should wake up and start his day.

He begrudgingly rolled over to the edge of the bed, grunting loudly as he forced himself to get up, slowly trudging over to the small night-stand in the corner of the room that held the tiny alarm clock. 

The air in his apartment felt chilly without the warm protection of his blanket, only reinforcing his desire to do nothing more than to cancel his entire day, crawl back into bed and never be woken up again. 

He reached around the back of alarm clock in the darkness, fumbling to find the off switch that would make the God awful beeping noise stop. When he found it, he pressed it quickly, letting out a sigh of relief for the silence it produced.

"God help me," he whispered into the darkness of the night, as if there was somebody there listening to him. He hugged himself tightly in an attempt to keep warm, repeating his words:

"God help me."

He headed over to the already opened bathroom door, walking inside to flick the light on. He squinted as the sudden brightness filled the tiny room, forcing him to look at his own reflection. Upon seeing himself in the mirror, Harry grimaced, admitting that he looked like a shadow of the man he used to be. The drinking had certainly taken it's toll on him and it didn't help that was only getting three hours of sleep a night. He made a quick mental note to himself to pick up some anti-aging creams after his lunch-date. He was only thirty, after all, and even if he never planned on getting married again, he'd at least like to still be found attractive.

He supposed he should take a shower - but that was the thing about depression - there was literally no drive for Harry to do anything. He'd lost everything; his job, the condo, even the dog he never knew he cared about.

Alas, Harry still had _some_ pride - or at least he did when it came to seeing his father. The old bastard was critical enough, and right now Harry was just really, really tired of being criticized by people. So, he stepped into the shower, actually enjoying the warm spray of the water on his back.

He decided to go all out, even shaving and styling his hair slightly. He walked over to the small closet next to his bed, letting his fingers roam over all the outfit choices it held. He finally settled on the deep blue, Armani suit that hung all the way in the back corner on its hanger. 

It stared back at him in an almost sad fashion. Having only ever been worn twice, it had been a gift from his father when he first joined the firm. He still remembered his father's words, telling him that appearance was key to making a good first impression with any potential client. It rested in his hands now, recalling all the painful memories of the past five years like a bad scar. However, he still proceeded to chuck it over his shoulder and lay it out on the bed, as he put his dress shirt on, slowly buttoning it up. It was Smith and Wollensky after all, and he needed to convince his father, he still had some sanity left. 

He reached over into the old wooden dresser propped against the wall, one of the few relics he managed to salvage amidst the splitting of the assets. She could keep the marital property, he reasoned with the attorneys, but he was living in a studio apartment with no furniture and she was already draining him dry. Quite frankly, he needed to get something, no matter how small it be. Besides, the furniture also happened to be a wedding gift from his father, and Harry felt like at least half of it rightfully should go to him. 

His hand lingered over the silk, burgundy tie that was one of his favorites. He grasped it, enjoying the feeling the soft material that rested in between his fingers. However, he suddenly felt a pang of sadness, remembering the last time he had worn it was three weeks ago, when the divorced had been finalized. He tossed it back into the dresser with a scowl and began rummaging around for a different one- preferably one he hadn't worn in a long time. He settled on a plain black one, buried all the way in the back of the drawer, underneath the pile of others.

Before he headed out the door, Harry glanced in the mirror that hung above the dresser, one last time, making sure he and everything on him looked presentable. When he felt completely satisfied, he was about to turn and leave, when something caught his eye and made him pivot on his heels. 

The orange pill bottle stared back at him, almost judgmentally -another reminder of the suffering he had endured. He slowly walked over, reaching his hand out to grab it. He stared down at it, rolling it back and forth in the palm of his hand. 

_Take one tablet 2x a day as directed by doctor. May cause drowsiness. Do not take or mix with alcohol._

Harry frowned at the directions, running his thumb over the smooth, shiny labeling. He wanted so badly to just peel it off - throw it away, as if it never existed at all. It _had_ been a thirty day supply but so far, only about three or so pills had been taken. It wasn't exactly like Harry was counting but it wasn't like he was taking them either, so he was only left to guess how many were left in the bottle. 

He glanced up in the mirror one last time, studying his reflection carefully this time, thinking about the lunch he was about to have with his dad. Before he could think about it much longer, he untwisted the cap hastily and shook the two pills into the palm of his hand, tossing them back into his mouth and swallowing them dry. 

Something about it just never tasted right. 

Harry made sure to double bolt lock the door, slamming it shut, before rushing up the concrete steps onto the sidewalk outside, shuddering from the cold, Winter air. He glanced down at the gold rolex on his wrist, cursing to himself at the realization that he was already running late. He looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see see a yellow cab in the distance toward his direction, about a block down. He thought it might have been fate or possibly God finally cutting him a break for the first time in a year. He eagerly stuck his hand out, waving it around in the air, hopeful the cabbie would see him. 

"Taxi!" 

The cab drove right passed him, the driver not even taking a second to stop and glance at Harry. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, his breath outlined in white amidst the cold air. Though, he was not completely surprised. It was just his luck, after all, and it had always been hard to catch a cab in this part of the city. 

Harry paced himself quickly as he walked toward the subway. At least that was only five blocks away, he thought to himself, burying his face deep into his buttoned up jacket as as a means of shielding it from the brutal wind that whipped his cheeks. 

The train was delayed, of course, for at least a good twenty minutes, or so. Harry laughed cruelly to himself, knowing he shouldn't have expected anything less _perfect_ to have happened on the first day he agreed to leave his apartment and be social in a long time. As the train, came to a slow and sudden stop, Harry tumbled forward slightly, catching his balance by gripping the metal pole next to him. He looked over into the masses of people huddled on top of each other in the train car and felt his heart grow heavy and sore, remembering the first time him and Mariah came to look at properties in Brooklyn. They were eager twenty-somethings, arm in arm with their whole lives ahead of them. Despite his father's protestations, they didn't have a care in the world, knowing that there was nowhere else they would have liked to have lived. 

Harry felt his Blackberry vibrate against his hip. He steadied himself on the pole he was already gripping once more, before burying his hand into his pant pocket to fish the device out. He felt slightly irritated (and almost disappointed, if he had to be honest) to realize it was just a message from his father, asking where he was and if he'd left his apartment yet. He didn't bother to respond, simply turning the phone off altogether and slipping it back into his pocket to avoid any further communication. He was about to be there in ten minutes anyway, and that was more than Harry could handle as it was.

Smith and Wollensky was right in the heart of Midtown and also happened to be just a few blocks from his father's office. It always was one of their go-to hang outs whenever they needed to talk about something, usually business related, as Harry considered his father one of his clients and vice versa. That was the relationship Harry and his father had; their bonding sessions had to be squeezed into thirty minute lunches at elite restaurants, when they could both fit it into their schedules. It had been that way for as long as Harry could remember. He couldn't help but wonder to himself as he stepped off the subway platform, if his father would even still be speaking to him if he wasn't his son, seeing as his life had just gone to complete shit within one year. 

He pushed through the throngs of people scattered about in the streets, scolding himself for not bringing a pair of gloves. He wondered if he even owned a pair of gloves, as he stuffed his frost-bitten hands into his jacket pockets. He didn't have time to pay attention to those kinds of things anymore, not since his depression began. Little things like that had become so frivolous that he completely neglected to care about them. It was so cold, though, that he wondered if they would experience their first snow-fall of the season soon. Harry had always hated the snow while he had to commute back and forth into Manhattan but seeing as he was unemployed now, he's not sure he'd really mind. 

As he approached the front entrance of the restaurant, he nearly cried out to himself, reaching forward to grasp the freezing metal door handles to let himself inside. However, upon entering, he was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed by a warming wave of heat, that quickly gave him the feeling that he could fall asleep. He let out a sigh of relief and approached the hostess. 

"Hi, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for lunch around eleven - my dad, he had a reservation," Harry told the young woman, stopping, as he began to unbutton his long black coat. "Styles, Des Styles." 

The hostess nodded, then looked over her shoulder into a distant corner of the restaurant, before turning back to look at Harry, smiling, "Yes, Sir, he's here already. Follow me." 

Harry moved behind her as she lead him to their table, draping both his coat and scarf over his arm. His eyes scanned the restaurant, looking at the vert few people who were seated around the restaurant. There weren't very many people, he thought to himself, and he wasn't complaining either, as it's usually more crowded as mid-day approached. 

When they got closer to where he was to be seated, Harry made out his father, Des, sitting hunched over with his black suit and all, looking quite suave, elbows resting on the table, with his own blackberry in hand. No doubt he was typing a message to one of his many clients, Harry assumed. He always looked so busy, he thought to himself, wondering if he ever used to look that busy while he was working.

"Harry!" Des looked up and greeted, seeming genuinely happy to see his son much to Harry's surprise, considering how busy he sappeared. He stood up, leaving his phone on the table and extended his arms out to hug Harry, wrapping them tightly around him for several seconds. "What happened? 

"Hey, oh sorry, the subway was backed up," Harry replied, stepping back to drape his coat over the back of his seat, gently. "It was a nightmare getting into Manhattan." 

Des frowned at Harry's words, sighing and sitting back down into his chair at the table. "I imagine," he answered, pulling his seat forward a little. "You should've taken a cab." 

Harry wanted to rolls his eyes at his father's words but resisted; that was just so very _typical_ of his father to assume Harry could so easily flag down a taxi in the middle of a Brooklyn sidewalk, "Yeah, I tried," Harry answered with a heavy sigh, "but you know how hard that can be where I'm staying right now." He finished, unfolding the white napkin placed on the table and putting it over his lap. 

"Ugh," Des simply scoffed, throwing his hands up in a gesture to convey he understood what Harry was talking about. "Don't remind me, I just showed a property there two days ago. It was awful. Thank God for Eric." 

"Mm," Harry nodded, reaching over for his water and feeling the cool ,slippery condensation underneath his fingertips. Eric was his father's driver, he knew that. He remembered using him a few times when he was getting his Bachelor's at NYU and didn't feel like taking a cab. He was a proper spoiled New York City, rich kid, he supposed, almost feeling sickened by the thought. 

"Well, you look good," Des complimented, looking Harry up and down. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, Dad. I feel good," Harry answered, not completely telling the truth. Harry hadn't felt good at all over the past year and he knew Des knew that but he was just concerned - or making conversation, Harry guessed and so he gave him the benefit of the doubt, "How are you?"

"I'm actually doing great," Des admitted, seeming a bit more cheerful than usual and looking back down at his phone in his hand, typing out another message. "I think we may have finally found our buyer for that property in the Flatiron District." 

"Mm, the one with the marble stair-case?" Harry asked, remembering the large but rather chic property around twenty-third street that his father had listed. It had sat on the market for almost over a year and a half. He remembered his father had had often complained to him about having to reduce the price at least twice to make it more appealing. Quite frankly, Harry didn't really care while it was all going on, he was having his own issues at the time. "That's amazing," He commented. 

"Yep. Some Japanese businessman wants it apparently for when he's on call in New York," Des answered, pocketing his phone in his suit pocket and looking up to meet Harry's eyes. "Just waiting for the other agent to call me back to confirm, so I'm sorry if I have to take the call." 

"It's fine," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders lightly. That was something he was already used to when it came to his father - in their family, business always came first, then family time could come later if there was time for it. 

"I hope you don't mind but I ordered without you," Des began to say, pointing toward a plate with what appeared to be a filet mignon, his dad's dish of choice. "Should I get us a bottle of red?" 

Harry felt his skin become prickly and hot from the rage boiling underneath it at his father's careless words. His mind flashed back to moments earlier in his apartment, as he stood in front of the mirror, pill bottle in hand. "I'm not supposed to drink on my medication, Dad," Harry answered, with just enough bitterness in his voice that it wouldn't cause a fight, "You know that." 

"Oh shit, that's right," Des replied, wiping a hand over his forehead, seeming genuinely embarrassed for forgetting that piece of pertinent information. "So you're still taking that, then, huh?" 

"Yeah, clearly," Harry answered, eyes wide, the hint of sarcasm clear. "I'll just stick with water," he said, gripping his near freezing glass tightly and taking a sip quickly to shut himself up, before he might be tempted to say something even more sarcastic, igniting an argument between father and son. 

"Well, your hair is getting long, isn't it?" Des casually commented as Harry continued to drink his water, gesturing to Harry's long, curly locks that rested just above his shoulders. "Are you planning on cutting it anytime soon?" 

Harry released the glass from his mouth, letting out an 'ah' sound as he did. He knew where the conversation was about to head and he wasn't sure if he was ready for the verbal assault he was about to endure. "I don't know. It hasn't been this long since college." Harry said, hoping to change the subject and distract his father. 

"Pfft, yeah, don't remind me," Des scoffed, with a grimace. "I like to refer to that time period as your lost years," he said, cutting into his steak with fervor. Harry felt the exact same frustration build up that did during those times, when so often his father pleaded with him to shear his locks. "Well, I hope you're planning on cutting it before next week. Nobody's gonna wanna rent prime office space to a guy who thinks he's Bret Micheals."

"Oh, c'mon, Dad, I kind of like it." Harry protested, not entirely sure why he was bothering to even argue with his father about this topic. It was an age-old one and he knew he would just get the same response he always did when it came to his appearance and Des' demands. "Besides, I thought one of the perks of having your own business was that you could do whatever you wanted." 

"Not when you're a Styles," Des replied, this time staring straight at Harry, eyes stern and filled with warning. "Harry, I expect you to represent this family - both my company and yours. I'm going to be bringing you clientele, big clientele - my clientele, understand? I can't be having you embarrass us." Des said studying Harry's face, not even seeming to notice his son wincing at the suggestion that he was an embarrassment to the family name. Harry simply nodded, eyes glued to the ground, not wanting to meet his father's critical gaze. "Besides, I'm already helping you out enough putting down this deposit for you, the least you could do is cut your damn hair if I ask." 

With that, Harry couldn't take it anymore, "Dad, I don't need you to do any favors for me," he finally snapped, not being able to take anymore of his father's harsh criticism without getting a chance to defend himself. "I'm fine, I could always interview at another firm! We don't have to do this. You're the one pushing all of this!" 

"Keep your voice down, Harry!" His father hissed, whipping his head around to make sure nobody had heard Harry's words. "Are you kidding me? After the shit you pulled, you're lucky you weren't disbarred. Any big name law-firm in this city runs a background check on you and finds out there's an order of protection against you, it's all over." His father reminded him, pounding his fist on the table for dramatic effect. He kept his head low, as if to remind Harry to keep their voices down. "This is our best option, Harry. I'm only trying to help you. I just wish you could see that." 

Harry suddenly felt ashamed at his father's words, recognizing that he _was_ just doing what he always did best again - saving Harry from himself and his dumb mistakes. 

"I know, dad, I'm sorry," he said softly, still not being able to look into his father's eyes. "I've just been having a hard time, lately, is all." 

"Hm," he heard his father say, shifting in his seat. There was a period of awkward silence between them before Harry did finally look up, "You're still wearing it, huh?" 

Harry didn't answer. He just brought his hands together and nervously twisted the gold ban, in between his fingertips, wishing desperately that he'd remembered to have taken it off that morning. 

"I'm just not ready to take it off, yet," He mumbled, voice shaky, looking around the restaurant's atmosphere, this time wishing he hadn't agreed to come at all. 

"Harry," Des began to say, his voice soft, so much so that Harry almost didn't recognize him as his father. He looked up at him, to see sympathetic eyes staring back at him, something that was so rare with his dad, it almost sent a shiver down his spine. "When I lost your mother, for so long, I felt lost too. I didn't know what the hell to do. It was _so_ hard to move on, to get through the day-" 

"-It's not the same thing, Dad. Mom died. She didn't leave you for someone else," Harry \couldn't stop himself from interrupting him, feeling justified in doing so, seeing as he didn't feel the two situations were in the least bit comparable. 

"But the pain, Harry," his father said, placing a hand over his heart, "the pain is still the same." Harry swallowed, not sure if he was feeling like he was going to cry at his father's display of sentimentality or because of the fact that he was being sentimental at all, "and I know it's hard," he continued, "because you loved that girl and you put a lot of investment in her and she disappointed you, Harry. But there must come a day, and there will, where you begin to envision a life without her." 

With those words, for the first time in a long time, Harry broke down, letting his head fall down into his hand that rested on the table and let out a soft sob. He had always struggled to manage his emotions and that was something that he hated about himself, often times wishing that he wasn't so weak. But right now, right in this restaurant, in front of his father, a man who always advocated that displaying any kind of emotions could be dangerous, he allowed himself to cry. 

"C'mon, Harry," Des said, reaching out and gripping Harry's wrist. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Things are going to improve for you." He said, rubbing Harry's wrist lightly. It wasn't really comforting but was doing the best he could to console his son, Harry figured, and so he let him, "You're going to have your own law firm and someday you'll get a new wife, you'll see."

Harry sniffled, looking up and concealing the urge to groan the prospect of ever getting married again. Just because it was so easy for his father, to quickly find another wife and bury all his emotions as if they were never there at all, did not mean Harry had the same desire to do so. In fact, he'd rather die a divorcee, forever burned by the pain of a love long time lost. 

"Hey," Des began to say again, concern still somewhat apparent in in his voice, "Why don't you move back home for a while, huh? Just for a little bit, until we can get this whole mess sorted out with the firm, hm?" 

Harry's face contorted in confusion. The idea of returning home was one he'd never even considered or conceived of for that matter, mostly because it was something he just _did not_ want to do. He could think of a thousand, lesser pleasant things he'd much rather do, instead and to be honest he felt that once an adult had moved out of their parent's home, they shouldn't return. It was only a sign that they couldn't take care of themselves. 

"No, Dad," Harry said, shaking his head to convey his certainty. "I'm fine where I am. You're doing enough helping me out, I don't need to burden you anymore." He said, knowing that he was lying about his reasoning for not wanting to return home, but if he were to be honest, it would only possibly cause more arguments to ensue and Harry didn't want that. 

"Well, at least let me find you an apartment for God sake's, Harry. I can't stand the thought of you living in that dump," His father said, quite adamant at the idea of getting Harry to move somewhere else. 

"Hey!" Harry scolded his father, hurt by his choice of words, "I like that place." 

"Harry, I didn't send you to law school so you could live underneath a bar in Clinton Hill. How much are they charging you for that place, anyway?" 

"It's actually really inexpensive, Dad," Harry replied, not being completely truthful. His rent was on the upward of fifteen hundred dollars a month and with the loss of income and the mandatory alimony payments, it was really starting to put a drain on Harry's bank account. "Besides, it's mostly college kids, anyway. It's actually a really nice area." 

"Yeah, yeah, I guess," Des agreed reluctantly, still shaking his head a little. "I just never liked the idea of you living in Brooklyn to begin with. I know it's gentrified now and everything but in my day, it was a real piece of shit." 

"Yeah, I know, you've told me this a thousand times," Harry responded, rolling his eyes. He often found himself wanting to correct his father over the things he said, feeling that they were politically incorrect and made him uncomfortable - but he feared the repercussions, knowing that his father was a hardened man who stuck to his guns. He was one of the most powerful real-estate moguls in all of the five boroughs and it was often better to stay on his good side, rather than to wander over to his bad side. Harry always kept that in the back of his mind, "Well, you know, Dad, it was never really my idea to live in Brooklyn. That was Mariah's." 

"Yeah, now that I remember, she was quite pushy about that, wasn't she?" Des commented, pursing his lips. Harry could tell by his annoyed face that he was recalling the way Mariah had insisted on him and her their going through own realtor and not Harry's father. He always knew Des disliked her after that, making snide comments about their condo whenever he came over, about how small and cheap it looked. He even remembered Des telling him not to worry about it when he let her keep the property during the divorce, saying that 'cheap belonged with cheap, anyway'. "I'm serious, Harry. I think it would be a good idea if you came home for a while. We're all really worried about you." 

_We're_ all worried about me?" 

"Yeah, me, your mom-"

"She's not my mom," Harry said, frustrated, wondering how many times he would have to go through this with his dad, wishing he'd stop calling that God-awful woman his mother, "and I find that hard to believe considering she hates me." 

"Johannah doesn't hate you," Des said, voice sounding as if he thought Harry was crazy to even suggest such a thing. 

"She still talks to Mariah, you know?" 

"That's not true," Des said, shaking his head as he chewed his food. Harry felt beyond infuriated that his father was choosing his wife's side over his but he wasn't entirely surprised, it had always been that way, ever since they got married eight years ago. 

"Yes, it is," Harry mumbled defiantly. "At least that's what my attorney said. That's how she kept finding out information against me."

"Look, if if that was true, what does that even have to with me, Harry?" Des asked, gesturing to himself. "Besides, they're women. They gossip. You know that." 

Harry felt like it was time to throw in the towel and stop the argument. He wasn't going to win, not when it came to Des' love for Johannah, "I know but it still makes uncomfortable," Harry huffed, crossing his arms, irritated at his father's complete dismissal of his step-mother's betrayal over him. 

"I just thought it would make for good father-son bonding time, is all," Des said, raising an eyebrow innocently. Harry could only stare back, puzzled, wondering whether or not his father was being honest. For as long as Harry could remember, they hadn't had any father-son bonding time since before he was ten when they would occasionally go out to different events around the city, only when Des bought tickets. 

Harry desperately wanted to ask, _What old times? Since when do you care about bonding with me?_ but he held back his questioning, always wanting to offer people the benefit of the doubt. That was his greatest flaw and he cursed himself for being so goodhearted, as it always left him open to injury from others. But this was his own father, a man who despite, having disappointing him on so many occasions, he still had a relationship with, albeit a complicated one - but still, _a relationship_ and Harry didn't seem to have too many of those anymore. "I don't know," he answered, scratching his head, as if considering it,"I mean, my apartment's still under lease." 

"Don't worry about it, Harry," his father offered, "I can always pay out the rest of the lease for you, no problem. Or better, I'll get a new tenant in there, no questions asked." Harry knew his father wasn't lying. He was a very powerful man after all and he knew his way around all the loopholes. If there was somebody who could break a lease in New York without any consequences, Des Styles was the man who could do it, just throw some extra bucks at them, set them up with a new tenant and send them on their way. "I'll tell you, what," Des said, wiping his mouth with his napkin, "If you consider my offer, I'll get us tickets to the Knicks game on Friday night, like we used to do. Front row." 

Harry's jaw nearly dropped at his father's proposal. He was amazed his father still remembered their Friday night, Knicks games from years ago. They had always been among his fondest childhood memories. He smiled, almost blushing, trying his hardest to hide his glee from glowing on his face. "You mean that?" Harry asked, excitement emerging in his voice. 

"Of course, Harry," His father smiled back, nodding, "I think it would be good for you to have a support system right now that you're life is changing and what better support system is there than your own family? Besides, we-I miss you." 

Harry didn't know how to feel about his father's words - this whole sudden suggestion of their family to be a part of his life now. It seemed very alien to him, the idea of being close with anyone right now, that was. He had sort of grown used to the loneliness that had surrounded him these past few months, beginning to almost enjoy it, actually. He knew it wasn't healthy for him, however, remembering how his therapist had told him that he couldn't just continue to isolate himself anymore, that he needed to go out and form relationships with people. 

"Well, I suppose, I'll think about it," Harry told his father, who seemed to think this definitely meant he was agreeing to it by his beaming smile. 

"Well, I certainly hope so, Harry," He said, eagerly lifting his own glass to take a sip of water. Harry lifted his own glass, to imitate Des but was interrupted when his father announced, "The only thing is, you have to stay in the guest room. Louis has your old bedroom now." 

Harry froze for a minute, remembering Johannah's son, Louis, the quiet one whom he always seemed to forget about because he so easily managed to fade into the background all the time - or at least that's how Harry remembered him. He had completely forgotten about Louis over the years, their twelve year difference in age making it hard for them to ever really bond. He wondered now, that he had been reminded of him, whatever happened to his forgotten step-brother. 

"Louis is still living at home?"Harry asked, a little confused. "Shouldn't he be in college by now?" He asked, quickly doing the math in his head to calculate his age. 

"He is," Des responded, giving out a loud sigh, as if this was a topic he really didn't want to discuss. "He goes to a CUNY, so he commutes."

"Louis goes to a _CUNY_?" Harry asked, bewildered, the shock was clear in his voice. " _Why?_

Des sighed again, heavily this time, folding his hands together and placing them on the table. "I don't know," he answered Harry, shrugging slighty. "He never really was IVY league material, Harry. That boy's got a couple of screws loose, if you know what I mean." 

Harry was only left to speculate what that could possibly mean. Knowing Des, it could be interpreted as a thousand different things, considering how judgmental he was prone to be. Harry had fallen victim to that, himself many times. However, he couldn't help but be surprised, that with all the money Des and Johannah had combined, they couldn't just _buy_ Louis an IVY league education, regardless of whether or not he was deserving of it.

"Well, that's..."Harry started to say, not really sure of what to tell his father about the current situation with his step-son, feeling that maybe it was inappropriate to comment at all, "That's just sad, I guess." 

"I know," Des voiced, disappointed in the boy who wasn't even his own flesh and blood. "I've told Johannah so many times that we need to cut that kid loose and teach him a good lesson but," Des stopped in mid-sentence, as if he were in deep thought about something before continuing, "a mother loves her son, I guess." 

Harry couldn't help but laugh, giving his father a knowing look, "Well the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it, Dad?" He said, not being able to hold in the guffaws of laughter at his own comment, comparing Johannah and her son. Des reached over to give him a light smack with his menu, to let him know to stop it. 

They bantered for a little while longer, Des reminding Harry several times more of his offer to take him back in, emphasizing once more that it would only be for a short time period, whilst Harry got his life back together. Finally, much to Harry's relief, Des' phone rang, signalling the other agent had called him back. As Harry left, he had concluded that it actually felt good to see his father, for once, thinking that maybe the future was looking a little bit more positive at last. 

On the subway ride home, Harry stared at his reflection in the dirty window of the subway car. It was nearly empty, aside from him, there were just a few other people, sitting in various seats. He seemed to notice that his face looked a little fresher, perhaps lighter, than it did that morning. He wondered if he could possibly attribute that to the fact that maybe his father was right, maybe he was beginning to envision a new life for himself, free from the past, free from Mariah and his old that job that despite not realizing it before, only tied him down. 

He began to think about his father's offer randomly, noticing the more he contemplated it, the more open he began to feel toward the idea. Maybe he did need a support system, after all, plus he _was_ going to need a lot of guidance in the next few months, considering he was going to be setting up his own business. Who better a person to get it from than his father, who was a businessman, himself. Plus, Harry knew that if he was ever going to be serious about quitting drinking, being surrounded by other people like family, would only influence him to watch his intake, possibly ending in him quitting altogether. Also, the idea of not having to pay rent for a while was certainly enticing. 

He knew he could be impulsive at times, his therapist had told him that, but for some reason, Harry didn't want to think about this for another second longer. He slipped his hand into pocket and dug out his phone, sending a simple, yet quick text to his father. 

_Thank you for lunch. I think I might take you up on your offer. H_

Harry immediately wondered if it was a bad idea, right after he sent it. He had only weighed the pros of going back to live at home, really, ignoring the possible cons. He didn't get along with his step-mother, first of all and he wasn't sure if being around her could possibly aggravate his mental state, knowing how she still talked to his ex-wife and everything. He wondered if that would possibly open an entire new Pandora's box for him, getting him into even more trouble. He began to panic for a moment, trying to remember what his therapist said to do when these sort of attacks began to happen but he was snapped out of his thoughts when his phone vobrated, letting him know his father had responded. 

_Already ahead of you, bought 2 tix for Knicks game fri night. 8 PM, front row x_

With that, all of Harry's neurotic fears dissipated and he knew he was making the right decision. Before he could even smile, a second text popped up. 

_U r making the right choice, H. knew u'd come thru. Movers will come tomorrow. pack up ur stuff. love u."_

Harry nodded at this phone, as if his father could see him do it. He began to feel overwhelmed, realizing what a long night he had ahead of him, one filled with packing up boxes and shuffling things around in preparation for his temporary move back home. He was almost excited for a minute, thinking about going back to his childhood home, like he was a little kid on an adventure again or something, until suddenly Harry heard the sound of a man screaming on the far end of the subway car. 

Harry looked up, recognizing the man as a homeless man he'd seen before on this subway. His shirt was tattered and dirty, his bare hands and feet were frost bitten from the lack of protection that shielded them. He was talking, more like blubbering to himself, aimlessly, going from smiling to frowning to laughing about nonsense 

Harry remembered he had once read a statistic that a large majority of homeless people in New York were actually mentally ill people who were un-medicated. He looked away from the man, gazing at his polished, black shoes that rested firmly on the subway ground. He then thought about the pill bottle from that morning and how he gripped it with such contempt, and he couldn't help but wonder - if he hadn't been born into such wealth, what would have happened to him? Would he have been destined to roam subway terminals, screaming in nonsensical agony at a misunderstood pain he was experiencing, one that only medication - or alcohol - could treat? Would he have shared the same fate as this man before him? 

Harry suddenly remembered his father's words about his step-brother, Louis, something about him having 'had a couple of screws loose.' 

He looked over his shoulder, gazing out into the New York City skyline, thinking deeply about everything. 

People probably think that about me too, he said to himself, almost unapologetic. 

_People probably think that about me too._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally meets his step-brother, Louis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. I am a terrible person. It's been eighty-four years, I know. I feel awful that it took this long to update. I'm really sorry. The semester had begun and I just got so distracted. 
> 
> I absolutely love this story and am very committed to it. I have every intention of finishing it, so, please keep reading! I promise I won't be this slow at updating again.
> 
> Also: So, this chapter was originally much, much longer than this - but I decided to break it up into two chapters because it was becoming way too long and drawn out.
> 
> The next chapter (Ch. 3) will contain what originally was supposed to be the second half of this one. It's pretty much 3/4 done too, so I'm hoping I'll have it up tomorrow. I've been working really hard on it too and it's going to be excited.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

The next day, Harry had decided to follow the moving van in a taxi. He couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia as they drew closer to his childhood home. They had moved to the Upper East Side when Harry was just a baby, after Des had made his first big sale in real estate.

It felt like a completely different time when Harry thought about it. He remembered his mother fondly and how she used to carry him in her arms down the stone staircase toward the nearby park. It was his earliest and favorite memory. He could still smell the scent of her perfume and how soft her skin felt as he rested his head against her chest.

When the cab finally pulled up to the large building, Harry couldn't help but stare up at it through the window. He oddly felt in awe of it. It didn't look any different, it was still tall and hard to miss- but it also didn't look the same. Harry felt a wave of awkwardness flood into his senses. He hadn't been here since college. Even though his father and Jay lived here, he never needed a reason to come by, mostly because if needed to see his father, he could always meet him at either his office or in a restaurant. 

That was the dynamic of their relationship.

Harry reached into his wallet and pulled out a few bills, handing them over to the driver. He then exited the cab, closing the door behind him and walking over toward where the moving van had parked. The gentlemen inside soon got out and began unloading Harry's boxes of things. He smiled at the men, leaning down to try to give them a hand in carrying some of his belongings. He suddenly heard Des' voice behind him. 

"Don't do that," he said, smacking Harry's hand gently. "Why else would we be paying them?" He gestured toward the moving men.

"Oh," Harry stuttered, slightly, "I just wanted to help." 

"Don't be ridiculous, son," Des responded, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Don't worry about them. They'll bring your stuff up. Let's just get you inside, it's freezing out here."

Harry nodded as they began toward the doorman, eventually going inside. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder, feeling it was rude to leave the moving men behind there on the street without offering any help but he didn't want to argue with his father. He was giving him a place to stay, after all, and he didn't want to seem difficult.

As they rode up the elevator, Harry was surprised to see how well renovated the building appeared to be.

"Wow," Harry commented. "Look at this place. They completely re-did the elevator."

"Yeah," Des asnwered, seemingly unamused. "You've missed a lot these last few years."

Harry's face fell and he suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Was Des trying to imply something to him? He couldn't bare to look at his father. Instead, he turned his face away, wondering when exactly the line of communication he once shared with his family had become so faded. Had he had become so obsessed with his marriage to Mariah, that he inevitably forgot to visit home more often - even call? Surely, he could've at least called every now and then.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted, when Harry felt a jolt, indicating the elevator had reached the fifteenth floor. The doors opened slowly and Harry followed his father out onto the marble flooring of the hallway. They made their way toward the apartment door, Harry's pulse increasing slightly at the prospect of walking into his childhood home, it was as if he was re-entering an unfinished scene in his life. But before they could even reach the door, it opened and Harry's blood ran cold.

There, standing in the doorway was Jay. Her long, brown hair was curled delicately in small ringlets that hung by the sides of her face, which was heavily done up with make up. He small frame leaned against the white doorframe, accenting her black suit, donned with shiny pointed high heels. She looked exactly the same, Harry thought, only older. 

"Hello," she said, in almost a purr, making Harry's skin crawl. Her red lips were purshed in a thin line, forcing crinkles to form by the corners of her eyes. Harry could tell she was faking her smile.

"Hi, Jay," Harry mumbled, looking at his feet. He sighed and looked up, "How have you been? 

"Oh," Jay laughed softly, "Busy, you know how it is." She opened the door wider and gestured for them to come inside. "Please, come in."

Jay was somewhat of an enigma to Harry. She was undoubtedly beautiful, in an Old Hollywood type of way - but she was as glamourous as she was vicious. Being the owner of her own interior design business, Harry was impressed the first time Des brought her home to meet him. It was the summer before he was to enter college and Harry still remembered the way she sat so elegantly at the end of their long, dining room table, seeming as if she were a centerpiece, laughing graciously at everything Des said and seeming so infatuated by him. Harry had liked her. She fit right into the scenery. He remembered being happy for his father at the prospect of him dating again. However, as time went on, Harry began to see Jay quite differently than he did that night. To him, she was a panther, sly, manipulative, and she knew exactly what she wanted. Harry even recalled how he once told his ex-wife that where Des saw hearts in his eyes when he looked at Jay, she saw dollar signs.

He couldn't blame her though, he supposed. She was a businesswoman, after all and this was her marriage of convenience. 

Harry slowly followed suit after Des, walking into the apartment. As he took a quick look around, he began to feel overwhelmed by its grandeur. The penthouse was still as beautiful as ever but he had almost forgotten how big it was. The decor was slightly different, though, thanks to Jay. It was much more bright and flashy, almost to a point of being tacky in Harry's opinion.

"Wow," Harry breathed, turning to Des. "It looks- really nice."

"Well," Des chuckled, "it looks slightly different from when you lived here," he smiled, "but thanks to 'Little Miss Designer' over here," he smiled, putting a hand around Jay, "it looks even better than before."

"Hm," Harry hummed, bobbing his head up and down slightly. "Yeah."

"Well, you must be tired," Jay commented, releasing herself from under Des' arm and moving toward Harry. "You've been up since, what, five AM?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "The movers came real early. But, ya know, living under a bar for the past year, I'm kind of used to being woken up at odd hours of the night."

"Well, don't you worry," Des announced, looking down at his watch. "Your mother and I are going out to work soon, so you'll have the apartment all to yourself to catch up on some sleep."

Harry cringed at Des' use of the word 'mother' but did not show it. Jay was standing awkwardly right in front of them and he thought it best not to have an argument about this topic on his first day back home. He figured he could always correct his father later.

"And you can have Betty whip you up something for breakfast if you get hungry."

"Betty?" Harry asked, excitedly. "Betty still works for you?"

"Yep," Des answered. "She should be getting up soon, actually-"

Before Des could finish speaking, Harry started down the hallway in search of their housekeeper. Betty had been one of the few people Harry truly loved growing up. She had served as a constant presence in his life as a child, almost serving as a substitute mother at times. Harry often times credited her as the woman who helped raise him to people. She was a wonderful woman in Harry's mind.

"Betty!" Harry shouted loudly, hoping to find her. "Betty!"

"Is that who I think it is?" The recognizable voice said. Harry whipped around to see the short, round woman standing at the end of the hallway, holding a pile of folded up towels.  
"Betty!" Harry gasped, running toward her with arms open. He nearly knocked her over, making her drop the the towels she was holding.

"Oh, my gosh," she squealed," hugging him back tightly. " I can't believe it"

"I know!" Harry answered, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

"Look at how big you've gotten," she said, pulling back and straightening out his shirt slightly. "It's about time you've come to visit me."

"Oh, don't make me feel guilty," Harry laughed, patting her slightly on the arm. "Here," he said, reaching down to pick up the towels he'd made her drop and handing them back to her. "Did you know I was coming?"

"Yes, I did," Betty responded eagerly. "I was going to make you breakfast but you came earlier than I expected."

"Oh, it's fine," Harry answered, smiling. "I'm not even hungry." He rubbed a hand over his stomach. "It's so great to see you, Betty, honestly."

"Oh, I know, Harry, I've missed you so much," she replied, reaching down to grasp his hand in hers. "I hope you're doing okay."

Harry felt that sweet, warm feeling that only Betty could bring out in him. She was genuinely concerned about him because she cared about him - and just knowing that made Harry feel so good inside. 

"Thank you, Betty," he responded, staring down at their intertwined hands. "I am." 

Betty smiled sweetly, then reached up to gently grab a lock of his hair and said, "Your hair got so long."

"Yes it did," Harry laughed, stepping back, feeling a bit bashful. "I've been growing it out." He began twisting the ends of it between his fingers.

"Uh, Harry," Des' voice interrupted. "I don't mean to cut in but Jay and I have to get to work soon," he commented pointing at his watch. "I've got to be in my office by nine."

"Oh, okay," Harry responded, looking over his shoulder and pushing the strand of of hair he was twisting behind his ear. "I'll let you guys get going."

"Thanks. Oh, and don't forget the movers are still coming up with your stuff, so let them in when they knock."

Harry nodded, folding his arms, and pivoting his body toward where Des and Jay were standing in front of the doorway.

"Also, Louis already went to school for the day, so you'll definitely have the place to yourself."

"Okay," Harry answered, still nodding. That was right, he thought to himself, he had forgotten about Louis, _again_.

"Betty, could you please show Harry to the guest room," Des said, opening the front door, getting ready to leave. "C'mon, Jay."

"Oh," Harry said, putting his hands up and facing back to Betty. " I know my way around."

Betty smiled at Harry, then made her way back down toward the laundry room, closing the door behind her.

"Jay!" Des said again, this time more loudly. "C'mon, let's go."

" _Okay_ ," she answered a bit irritated. "Just one moment."

She moved toward Harry, her arms folded against her chest. "Don't worry," she said softly, her voice a whisper. She put her hand on his shoulder and moved in so close that he could smell her hairspray. "I warned Betty not to leave any alcohol bottles out." She gave his shoulder a squeeze, "I've got your best interests at heart."

Harry didn't look up from the tile flooring. Her words were like a dagger, cutting through his otherwise fairly happy mood. However, Harry had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to give in and fight with her. If he was going to stay here for a while, he had to make an effort to get along with her. It was only until Des and him sorted everything out with his new practice and he could get a new apartment in the city.

"Have a nice day, Jay," was all he said. 

_

Shortly after Jay and Des had left for work, Harry began to settle into his new room. The movers had placed Harry's boxes in the living room, as he instructed them to do. He carefully moved back and forth between the two rooms, taking out only a few items, like a pairs of jeans and some shoes and placing them neatly on the bed. However, he wasn't really ready to unpack as of yet. Instead, feeling quite tired, he sat down on the bed and decided to turn on the TV for a bit and watch television. 

As he watched TV, however, something immediately caught his eye. Right there, in the corner of the room, sat a vintage record player, propped up next to the window. Harry couldn't help himself, as he walked over to examine it more closely. It was quite beautiful actually, Harry reasoned to himself. He was convinced it had never been there before, or perhaps he had just never seen it. He bent down to examine the music collection resting on a shelf below. The Rolling Stones, The Ramones, Iggy Pop and the Stooges. Harry was impressed. If this did belong to Des, his father must not have been as boring as he originally thought. 

Around noon, Betty told him she was going out for lunch and he nodded. Having the apartment to himself, Harry decided it would be a good time to have a snack and take a shower. He headed toward the kitchen, raiding the fridge to see what was there. After a moment, he contemplated ordering Chinese food but eventually decided against it, making himself a sandwich instead.

After quickly washing off his plate and placing it back in cupboard, he then went over to the linen closet and pulled out two freshly washed towels, heading over to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He opened the shower door and pulled on the nozzle, twisting it to adjust that the water was at a nice temperature and stepped inside.

As the water sprayed on his back, Harry couldn't stop thinking about what Jay had said to him earlier that morning. He couldn't shake how rude she was to him, feeling the need to bring up his alcoholism. He had come so far and often felt as if no one was giving him credit. How could he be surprised, though? She _was_ an ally to his ex-wife, after all. Of course, she was going to be rude to him.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. His psychiatrist had warned him about his 'black and white' thinking. He had told Harry that it was unhealthy to keep assigning everyone in his life to 'a side.' It was not a war, he had told Harry, but rather a misfortune, from which he needed to grieve and move on from.

But that angered Harry deeply. How could he not see it as a war? It was a divorce. It practically was a war and by God, Harry definitely felt like he'd been through more than one battle with Mariah. Of course he was going to feel there were certain people who sided with his ex-wife more than they did with him. How could he not be weary of certain people's motives? The entire experience had left Harry feeling more and more distrustful of people and less willing to open up.

Before he could get more caught up in his thoughts, however, Harry stopped himself. It was because of thoughts like this, that Harry reached for the bottle. He was determined he was going to stay clean and sober and on his medication throughout his entire stay with his parents. He would not let Jay - or Mariah - win.

Once Harry was done showering, he exited the shower, wrapping one towel around his wet hair and the other around his waist. He sauntered back down the hall, re-entering his new room and shutting the door behind him gently. 

He sighed loudly and he peered out the window, admiring the view of the New York City skyline. He then turned toward the vintage record player, smiling. He then reached down into the shelf below and began to pull out some of the records that were neatly stacked there. He settled on 'Crimson and Clover' by Tommy James and the Shondells and put it in, letting it play at a medium volume.

He let the towel around his waist drop to the floor and walked over the the mirror, staring at his reflection. He frowned at the sight of the loose, flabby skin around his chest and stomach. He had certainly let himself go, he thought to himself,, remembering the time when he was always in the gym every morning, only eating lean proteins and drinking kale smoothies. He seldom drank alcohol in those days. But with the depression and the divorce, he just didn't feel the drive anymore to get out of bed in the morning, let alone go to the gym.

Harry continued staring at his body in the mirror for a moment, frowning. He raised his arm up above his head, making a fist and attempted to flex his bicep. Suddenly, without warning, the door swung open, startling Harry.

"Woah!" A voice shouted.

"Shit!" Harry gasped, immediately crouching beside the bed. His heart was beating wildly from embarrassment. 

"Uh," the voice said again. "My bad, I didn't realize you were in here."

Harry peered up from the side of bed to see a young man standing in the doorway, covering his eyes with his hands. He was clad in all black, from his skinny jeans to an Adidas hoodie. The only color on him was the red backpack he was carrying that rested on his shoulders. It took Harry a minute to process that that must be Louis, his step-brother. He almost didn't recognize him. He was so used to seeing him as a kid, he was still sort of expecting him to look like one.

Harry was too panicked to answer, instead he made a few 'uh' sounds, while attempting to locate his discarded towel.

"Well, this is awkward, isn't it," Louis said, trying to ease Harry's nervousness. "Please, you don't have to hide."

Harry scanned the room, spotting his pair of jeans laying on the bed. "Um, could you turn around, please?" he asked, his voice still shaky from the shock of Louis walking in on him.

"Yeah, sure." Louis answered, turning around so his back was facing Harry. "I'm not looking." He announced, standing practically in the hallway. Harry rose from the side of the bed quickly, grabbing the pair of jeans and slipping them on. He turned around looking for a shirt but realized he'd left them in one of his suitcases that was still out in the living room. 

"Is it okay to look now?" Louis questioned, his back was still turned to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry replied, not sure of what else to say. 

Louis turned around hesitantly, opening his eyes slowly and staring at Harry.  
Harry could see Louis in full view now. He stood was his phone in his hand and one earbud still in his ear. His hair was swept to the side in a fringe and he had some stubble on his chin, reminding Harry that he definitely was not the same kid he once remembered all those years ago.

"Um," Louis began, fiddling with the ends of his hoodie strings. "I think you're in the wrong room."

"I thought this was the guest room," Harry answered, quickly pulling the towel down that was still holding his wet hair.

"Yeah, it is," Louis responded, slipping his backpack off and dropping it on the bed. "But it's also my room."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought you had the bedroom across the hall."

"No," Louis replied, chuckling. "Well, yes, actually - but there's two guest rooms. This one and the one down the hall. You're supposed to be in the one down the hall."

"What?"

"Yeah, that's my record player, actually." Louis laughed, gesturing toward the music player. No wonder, Harry thought to himself. There was no way Des was listening to that kind of music. Embarrassed, Harry walked over and quickly turned it off.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know." 

"S'okay," Louis laughed. "Tommy J and the Shondells. Interesting." 

"Yeah," Harry said, looking around the room, feeling more awkward than ever. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, why do you need two rooms?"

"Well, I have my bedroom - your old room - and then I also use this room," Louis answered nonchalantly, "to you know, hang out in."

"Well, that's pretty confusing," Harry answered, putting a hand on his hip. "I wish I would've known that. This doesn't look like bedroom"

"Well, it's not really," Louis answered, sighing, then reaching into his hoodie. "It's just that this room has a nicer view." He said, pointing toward the window. "Plus," he continued, heading over to a light switch on the wall, flicking it on. The air conditioning roared loudly as it started to blow cool air into the room, making Harry feel even chillier than he already did. "I can smoke in here without anyone knowing."  


"Oh," Harry nodded, watching Louis pull what appeared to be a rolled up joint from his hoodie pocket, putting it between his lips. 

"Check it out," Louis said, lighting the end of the joint and inhaling deeply. He leaned his head back and blew the smoke out of his mouth. Harry watched as it danced in the air. "Mm," he hummed in relief. "I've been waiting to smoke this all day. Cool, isn't it?"

"Uh, I guess." Harry answered, looking down at his feet.

"Hey, want some?" Louis asked, extending his arm, offering the lit joint between his fingers to Harry. "Here."

"No," Harry answered, putting his hands up. "I don't smoke." It was true, after all. Harry had only ever smoked marijuana once in his whole life and that was at a party in college. He was so drunk, he's not even sure he really remembered it.

"Really?" Louis asked, seeming surprised and shrugging. "Fine, more for me, I guess." 

Harry noticed the way Louis' eyes seemed to be resting on his chest and he immediately felt insecure. He quickly folded his arms against himself, in an attempt to conceal his bare body. Louis must have noticed because his eyes suddenly grew big, "Oh, it's not that!" He exclaimed, loudly. "I was just admiring your tats. Didn't take you to be a bad-ass."

"Thanks." Harry muttered, somewhat proud. He looked down at his tattoos for a moment, then looked back up at Louis. "I got them a long time ago."

"Sick," he nodded. " I've got some myself. I'd like to get some more though." 

"Nice." Was all Harry could think to say. There was an air of silence between the two as they both continued to stand there, Harry with his arms wrapped around himself and Louis with a joint in his hand. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Um, weren't you supposed to be in school today?"

"My last two classes got cancelled so I came home."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Louis mouthed, staring down at the floor for a moment. "So, yeah. I guess you should probably go put a shirt on." He said. "I bet you're freezing, look at how hard your nipples are getting." 

Harry looked down, mortified at the sight of his budding nipples. He covered them with his hands and began to make his way toward the door, thinking that this moment could not get anymore embarrassing. 

"Yeah," Harry replied, shuffling past Louis. "Sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it, man," Louis replied, "If you need anything, just knock." 

"Kay," Harry mumbled quickly, desperately wanting to leave. 

"Seriously," Louis repeated. "After one of these," he said, lifting his hand that held the joint, "I like to put on some music and jerk off." 

Harry froze. "What?" 

"Oh my God!" Louis laughed. "It's a joke, man! You should have see your face!" 

Harry feigned a small smile. "Oh." He laughed lightly, cringing inside. "Okay, then." He turned back toward the door, ready to make a quick exit. 

"No but seriously, knock," Louis said, following Harry to the door, putting his hand on the knob, "I'm Louis. by the way. In case you didn't remember." 

"Yeah, I know," Harry answered. "I'm Harry." 

"Yeah, I remember you," Louis smiled, his eyes soft, "and your curly hair."

Harry's cheeks burned a deep, blushing red. He reached up and twisted a lock of his hair in between his fingers, before nodding and scurrying off to the end of the hall, entering the other guest room, not looking back at Louis once. 

He shut the door behind himself, leaning back against it and let out a shaky breath. That was without a doubt one of the weirdest conversations he had ever had in his life. In a typical fashion, he began to mentally scold himself for how awkward he was behaving. Then again, Louis was definitely one of the more stranger people Harry had ever met, so maybe he didn't mind all that much.

_ 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis go on a bit of an odyssey throughout the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments on the previous chapter. It has inspired me to continue on with this fic. This chapter has been saved in my drafts for months - it's a miracle it wasn't deleted. I took a break from the 1D fandom for a while because it was becoming a bit much for me, so I was finding it hard to work on my fics but the fact that people are actually reading them has helped me continue. Thank you so much :)
> 
> This chapter deals with some heavy stuff, so please be warned it can be triggering! 
> 
> As always, I apologize for grammatical errors!

The next morning, Harry was still reeling from the embarrassment of the night before. He had swore to himself that he wouldn't leave his room under any circumstances and risk bumping into Louis again. It almost worked except when he had to go to the bathroom and awkwardly ran into Louis in the hallway, simply nodding his head and immediately scurrying passed him.

At around five PM, Harry jumped out of bed and began shuffling through his drawers in search of a proper outfit to put on. Today was the day he was supposed to see the Knicks game with his father and Harry'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited. It had been a while since he'd gone out and done anything fun like this, so the mere prospect of having a Friday night out, even with his Dad, was very appealing to him. 

After Harry found a suitable outfit to put on, he checked the time on his phone. It was around five-thirty PM, which meant the game was going to start in about two hours. He figured he'd leave around six, assuming he would just meet his father at the Garden before the game. He quickly sent a text to Des, asking him around what time he imagined he'd be there. However, after fifteen minutes passed by without a response, Harry began to panic. 

He anxiously left his bedroom and made his way down the hall to the kitchen where Betty was preparing dinner. 

"Hey," Harry said, folding his arms against his chest. "My dad hasn't come home yet, has he?" 

"At this time?" Betty asked, looking down at the watch on her wrist. "No way." 

"Hm," Harry nodded, checking his phone one more time to see if there was any response from Des yet. 

"Besides," Betty continued. "He usually works late on Fridays." 

"Oh." Harry said, pocketing his phone. He turned on his heel quickly and started moving back down toward the hallway. Once he got back into his bedroom, he closed the door behind him and fished his phone out of his pocket, this time actually going into his contacts to call Des. 

He patiently waited, phone pressed against his ear, listening to the ringing. He sighed deeply, half expecting the call to go to voicemail when suddenly, Des answered. 

_"Hello?"_ Harry heard his father ask, his voice seeming irritated. 

"Uh, Hey Dad," Harry stammered, switching the phone to his other ear. "Sorry to call you at work but I'm just trying to touch base with you. Am I meeting you at the game or what?" 

_"Oh shit."_

Harry's heart immediately sank. The same feeling of disappointment he had experienced so many times as a child suddenly came creeping back. Of course, Harry thought to himself, Des _forgot_.

"Are you kidding, Dad?" Harry hissed, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. 

_"It's not that, Harry!"_ Des defended himself. _"I kept reminding myself, Harry! I'm just stuck in such a hole at work."_

"Please," Harry laughed bitterly, "I'm sure you are."

 _"Harry, really, I'm sorry about this,"_ Des continued, his insistence only infuriating Harry even more. "You know how busy it is here." 

"Please," Harry scoffed again, thinking of a hundred more horrible things he'd like to say in response to his father. Instead, he bit his tongue. "So I'm supposed to go alone then?" 

_"Can you take Louis instead?"_

Harry almost dropped the phone. 

"What?" 

_"Take Louis,"_ Des repeated. _"Come on, it would be a shame for those tickets to go to waste."_

"But I don't want to take Louis, Dad," Harry answered, purposely keeping his voice low in case he was in the hallway. "I wanted to go with you. That's what you said, that it would be a bonding experience." 

_"Harry, I'm going to have to go soon. Just take Louis. It'll be good for the both of you. You'll get to know each other._ " 

"Did you hear anything I just said?" 

_"Harry, I'm seriously busy. Now either you take your brother or don't go at all."_ Des snapped. _"The tickets are on the top of my bedroom dresser. Now, go get them and go with Louis - or don't, I don't really care - just don't call again!"_ He finished. Before Harry could even respond, Des had hung up the phone, forcing Harry to feel even worse than he had before. 

He turned his phone off, staring down at his own reflection in its darkened screen. He then walked over to the bed, plopping down on it and groaning loudly and putting his head in his hands, feeling as if he could cry. How could he have ever been so naive as to trust his father to keep a promise? It was his own fault really, Harry figured, feeling anger bubble underneath his skin. He should have never listened to his father. 

Despite feeling so upset over his phone call with his father, though, Harry stood up from his bed. Why should he not have a good time, even if his dad doesn't come? Besides, if he didn't use the tickets, he'd never hear the end of it from Des. Exiting out of his bedroom, he made his way down the hall into his father's master bedroom. 

It took him a minute but he found the two tickets exactly where Des had said they would be, lying on the top of his huge marble dresser, under a pile of papers. As he pocketed the tickets, he couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment at the framed photo Des had propped up on his dresser of his wedding day with Jay. They were both smiling brightly, her head thrown back and Des staring at her in awe. Harry felt the white, hot rage boil inside him again. He grimaced at the picture, contemplating picking it up and smashing it on the floor. 

He refrained, however, letting out a sigh and remembering how his shrink had told him to take a deep breath when he felt angry. He exited his parents' bedroom and slowly made his way toward Louis' locked door. He was not even sure if Louis _was_ home but the sound of a low rhythm rock-n-roll song playing soon gave him his answer. He took a deep breath, wondering whether or not he should even bother asking Louis to join him, but eventually he gave in and knocked on the door. 

"Yeah?" Harry heard a muffled voice call out. "Come in." 

Harry opened the door, staying in the hallway, he cleared his throat. "Hello," was all he said, watching as Louis quickly jumped off the bed and turned off the record player. 

"Hey, you," Louis smiled, sitting back down on his bed. "You're not Betty." 

"No," Harry answered, deciding to step inside Louis' room. 

"Sorry, thought it was dinner time," Louis replied, yawning and folding his arms behind his head. 

"Yeah, no," Harry chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear nervously. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, mustering the courage to ask the inevitable question, "I'm actually here because I was wondering if you wanted to see a Knicks game with me tonight at Madison Square Garden." He finished, his voice sounding shaky. 

"Huh?" Louis asked, making Harry's face fall. "Why would I want to do that?" 

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, face immediately turning red. "You're right, it's dumb." He sighed. "I was just," Harry stammered, face burning, "My dad didn't wanna go so, I was just - yeah." Harry finished, turning around, desperately wanting nothing more than to bolt out of there. "I'm gonna just- bye." 

"No wait," Louis called out. "Des bailed on you?" 

Harry turned on his heel, facing Louis but not completely looking at him, "Yeah," he answered, fiddling with his thumbs a bit. "I'm kind of used to it by now, so it's no big deal."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Louis said, sitting up and letting his legs hang over the side of his bed. "That is typical Des." 

"Yeah," Harry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and meeting Louis' eyes. "It's a shame because they were front row tickets." 

"Really?" Louis asked, suddenly sitting up straight much to Harry's amusement. "Can I see?" He asked, holding his hand out. 

"Uh, yeah sure." Harry said, reaching into his pockets and foraging around, eventually pulling out the two tickets and leaning over to place them in Louis' hand. 

"Holy shit," Louis gasped, his eyes growing wide as he stared down at them. "These are like a thousand bucks a seat." 

"Yep," Harry smiled at Louis' enthusiasm. "I figured it would be a shame for them to go to waste." 

"Yeah, no kidding," Louis agreed, looking up at Harry, smirking slightly. "You know what? I think I'll go." 

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. "You mean it?" He beamed, quickly catching himself. He had only just met -well, technically re-met, Louis yesterday. He didn't want to seem too eager to hang out with him. "I mean, I don't want to force you if-." 

"-No, really," Louis answered. "I want to go." 

"Okay, great," Harry smiled. "Well it starts in an hour, so how about I call us a cab?" 

"Sounds good," Louis replied, pocketing tickets before Harry could say anything else. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes!" 

_ 

When the cab pulled up outside Madison Square Garden, both Harry felt overwhelmed by the sizable crowd of people loitering around outside. They were wearing all kinds of Knicks memorabilia, from jerseys to baseball caps, making Harry feel slightly under-dressed in his suit and tie. He hadn't been to such a crowded event since his wedding and the whole thing was making him feel extremely nervous. He had almost forgotten how to dress at events that were non-business related since he hadn't gotten out much in a long time. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a shaky breath, only hoping his anxiety wouldn't get the better of him tonight. 

When Harry felt they were at an alright distance from the entrance, he told the driver to stop and unbuttoned his seat belt, turning to Louis, "You still have the tickets, right?" 

"You bet," Louis smiled at Harry, crinkles in his eyes appearing. Harry watched as he unhooked his own seat belt and reached over unlocking the door to exit. Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and fishing out a few bills to pay the driver, telling him to keep the change. 

When Harry stepped out of the cab, panic seemed to flood over him as he realized Louis had disappeared. It was only a moment ago that he had stepped out of the cab but now Harry could not spot his brother anywhere. He felt himself dizzying from anxiety-ridden nausea as he whipped his head from side to side trying to spot the younger boy. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the smaller man's frame standing about thirty feet away on a few steps outside, their tickets in his hand as he waved his arm. 

Harry began walking toward him, noticing a small crowd was beginning to gather around Louis. He began to pick up his pace slightly, calling out Louis' name. 

When he finally caught up to him, he pushed his way through the crowd of people, breathlessly asking, "What is going on?" 

"Tickets! Tickets!" Louis cried out into the crowd. "Front row tickets, ladies and gentlemen!" 

"Louis!" Harry shrieked, a knot in his stomach forming. "What are you doing?!" 

"C'mon, ladies and gentlemen. I've got two front row tickets here to the Knicks game tonight! We'll start the bidding at three hundred dollars!" 

"Louis, those are our tickets!" Harry yelled, running up the steps attempting to snatch them from Louis' fist. "Are you fucking crazy?!" 

"Curly, could you please!" Louis hissed, swatting Harry's hand away, rolling his eyes. "Tickets! Boletos! Three hundred dollars!" 

"I can't fucking believe this, you little twat!" Harry spat, watching as more and more people seemed to gather around Louis. "You fucking tricked me!" 

"Well, there's a sucker born every minute," Louis laughed, continuing to dodge his attempts at getting the tickets back. 

"Front row you said?" A voice called out making Harry's head snap around to see an older man wearing a suit with a blonde woman on his arm. 

"Front row," Louis repeated, nodding. 

"No!" Harry shouted, desperately. "He's a scam artist!" 

"Curly, please!" Louis shouted, looking back at the man with the suit who was now eyeing Harry up and down. "Don't worry about him, sir. He's my brother. He doesn't get out much if you know what I mean." 

"Let me see the tickets first," the man said with a hint of suspicion in his voice, holding his hand out. 

"See," Louis responded, holding the tickets out but not letting the man take them. He eyed the blonde up and down. "And I'll tell you what, since your girl is pretty cute, I'll give them both to you for five hundred." 

"You said three hundred," the man responded, his New York accent thick. 

"Louis, what the fuck are you doing?" Harry cried out in disbelief. 

"Okay, fine," Louis said, nodding his head and reaching up to stroke his chin. "Four hundred." 

The man let out a loud bark of a laugh. "Oh, okay. So you wanna barter with me then?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Three fifty." 

"Three seventy-five." Louis countered with a smirk. The man rubbed his chin, looking as if he was thinking about it. "Oh c'mon!" Louis moaned. "That's a bargain! They are a thousand bucks each, man." 

"So, why you sellin' them so cheap?" The man asked. 

"I told you, I like you," Louis smiled. 

The man eyed Louis up and down for a few moments before turning to his date and mumbling in her ear. 

"Alright, fine," the man nodded. "You see that ATM?" The man asked, pointing to a cash machine across the street. "I'm going to go get the money and I'll be right back. Don't sell those tickets to anyone else, got it?" 

"Got it." Louis agreed. 

"You." The man said, pointing to Harry. "Keep an eye on him while I'm gone." 

"Oh my God," Harry sighed, watching the man head off across the street. "Louis, are you fucking crazy?" He turned to him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "You're being ripped off! This is completely ridiculous! Do you understand that you've just lost money?!" 

"You know," Louis said, putting a hand over where Harry's rested on his shoulder, "I didn't _lose_ aanything. Des lost money." He shook himself out of Harry's grip. "And he deserved it. Who drops two K on tickets for a game and doesn't show up? That's his problem, not mine. I just made three hundred bucks." 

Harry could only watch in disbelief as Louis took out his phone and eagerly made a phone call. He stared, dazed at the lights all around Herald Square, illuminating the New York City skyline. He felt as if he were going to be sick. He had only had bad luck since he'd arrived back home and he was starting to realize that coming home had been a big mistake. He suddenly had that overwhelming feeling of wanting to run away, wanting to hide - but before he could even move the man was coming back toward them, money in hand. 

"The cash machine only gave me twenties, you better have change for twenty-five bucks, kid." 

"No problem," Louis said, putting an arm around Harry. "Harry, give the man twenty-five dollars." 

"I'm sorry, what?" Harry choked. 

"Harry, give the man twenty-five dollars." Louis repeated through gritted teeth. 

Harry could only look up at the man in disbelief and then back at Louis. "No." 

"Okay, what kind of fucking game is this?" The man asked, "You told me three seventy-five." 

"It is three seventy-five!" Louis protested, "Just give us a moment, please." He smiled, tugging harshly on Harry's arm and turning them around. "Harry, just please give this man the money. C'mon, I'll pay you back." 

"Are you kidding me, Louis? First, you sell our tickets to a complete stranger when I _trusted_ you, then, I need to help make the transaction go through?!" 

"Please, Harry," Louis begged, his eyes going soft. "I promise I'd pay you back." 

Harry stared into Louis' eyes for a moment, illuminated by the city lights. He didn't know this man or what he was capable of and he barely knew Louis. All he wanted was to go home at this point and if that meant letting Louis sell their tickets, he was okay with that. 

"Fine," Harry sighed, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his wallet. 

"Thank you!" Louis squeaked, giving Harry a quick hug, making him feel awkward inside. 

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, counting out twenty-five dollars and handing it to the man. "Now, Louis, give him the tickets so we can go home." 

"Yes," Louis said, handing the tickets over to the man. "Hope you have a fun night." He said smiling at both him and his girlfriend. 

"Yeah, well let's just hope these tickets aren't fake," the man said, snatching the tickets. "Or I'll remember your faces." 

"They're not," Harry reassured, watching the man grab his date's hand, heading toward the arena. He let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling relieved that the whole ordeal was over with. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone to call for a cab, relieved he could finally go home. Then suddenly, he heard Louis' voice call out. 

"You coming?" 

_"What?"_ Harry asked, turning around to see Louis standing on the sidewalk ahead of him. 

"C'mon, man, I've got some business to take care of." 

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" Harry spat, crossing his arms. 

"C'mon, Harold," Louis reasoned. "The night is young and I've got money to spend!" 

"Yeah," Harry laughed, running after Louis. "And half of that is mine!" 

_ 

The subway ride between Harry and Louis was quiet. Mostly because the train was overcrowded due it being Friday night. Harry and Louis were forced to stand, unable to to find seats, backs pressed against each other. 

Harry let out a sigh, as he gripped the metal pole, desperately wanting to know where Louis was taking him. They were going even further downtown then they already were before and he was beginning to worry that Louis was only going to get them into even more trouble. 

Finally, at fourteenth street and NYU, Louis poked Harry in the back to let him know this was their stop. Harry was intrigued, seeing as this is where he used to get off when he took the subway to school. 

"Where are we going exactly?" Harry questioned Louis, shoving his hands into pockets as they walked up the stairs into the cold night air. 

"Don't worry, Curly," Louis responded, his breath dancing in the air. "It's only gonna take a minute." 

"Well, I hope," Harry huffed, furrowing his brow. "I want to go home after this." 

They continued to walk for another block or two before Louis finally stopped, turning to Harry and putting a hand on his shoulder. 

"Okay, wait right here for a moment, alright?" 

"Here?" Harry asked, looking around. "Why?" 

"You'll see, just give me a minute." 

Harry watched as Louis walked down the block toward a young man wearing a dark hoodie, leaned up against a brick wall, smoking. He and Louis nodded at each other before making small talk which led to Louis pulling out a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handing it to the guy. In return he slipped a small baggie into Louis' hand before the two exchanged goodbyes and Louis turned back toward Harry making his way over to him. 

Harry couldn't believe what he'd just seen. Louis was openly buying drugs in front of him. 

"Louis," Harry scolded as he got closer to him. "Did you really take me all the way over here to buy weed?" 

Louis made a face at Harry, then began to laugh, putting a hand over his mouth, "Wow, you really are a noob aren't you?" He giggled, crinkles appearing by the corner of his eyes. "This isn't weed, man. This is adderall. I've got a final this week." 

He pocketed the small baggie into the side of his hoodie and adjusted his fringe, walking away and gesturing for Harry to follow him. Harry quickly followed, catching up with Louis. 

"We're not gonna get in trouble for you having that, are we?" He asked, his voice low but still panicky, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed Louis' drug deal. 

"Uh, not unless you open your mouth and tell somebody I have it," Louis answered, seeming bewildered by Harry's complete inexperience with these sorts of things. 

"Right," Harry answered, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "I just worry, is all." 

"Relax, man," Louis replied, as they stopped walking for a traffic light. "It's New York, this kind of shit happens all the time. Nobody cares." 

Harry hummed in agreement, pocketing his hands into the pockets of his coat. "You're right, I guess," he sighed, "I am a lawyer, Louis, so I have a natural tendency to remind people to protect themselves." 

"Aw," Louis laughed, making a stunned Harry turn around to look at him. "Thanks big bro for looking out for me." He said, slapping a hand on Harry's back. "Now I know who can defend me if I ever get arrested." 

"Don't joke like that." Harry muttered. "That's not funny. What you did with the tickets back there, that was also illegal." 

"Alright, alright," Louis laughed, putting his hood up. "Aren't you more like a real estate lawyer anyway? 

"Mostly, yeah," Harry answered, "but that doesn't mean I don't know the legal system well enough to know you've broken the law twice tonight." 

"Jeez," Louis moaned. "God, you're such a grown-up" Louis chuckled, making Harry suddenly feel a little old. "So, why real estate anyway?" 

"Well," Harry began, realizing nobody had ever asked him that question before. He suddenly felt unprepared to respond. "I guess it was just natural," he sighed, "My dad's a real estate agent, so I stuck with what I knew." 

"Oh, okay" Louis commented, seeming unimpressed with Harry's answer. "Did you always wanna be a lawyer?" He asked, seeming curious. 

"Well," Harry started, taking a deep breath. "No, not really. It just sort of happened." 

"How does that just happen?" Louis laughed, quickly stopping when he turned to see that Harry was frowning. "I mean, what else did you wanna be?" 

"Actually," Harry began, only to stop for a moment, seeming apprehensive, "You can't laugh." 

"I won't." 

"I wanted to be a writer- a poet actually." He admitted, avoiding Louis' gaze. He slowly looked up to meet his eyes, shocked to see that Louis wasn't mocking him at all. Instead, he looked quite impressed. He let out a small breath of relief. 

"A poet? Really?" Louis asked enthusiastically. 

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. "I even applied to NYU's creative writing program." 

"Damn," Louis commented, raising an eyebrow. "Did you get in?" 

"Yep." 

"Holy shit," Louis breathed, "That program is super competitive." 

"Yeah, you've heard of it?" Harry asked, excited to see that Louis understood what program he was talking about. 

"Of course, dude. I'm an English major myself," Louis said, stuffing his hand into his hoodie pockets. "That's amazing you got in. Did you go?" 

"No," Harry responded, his eyes falling to stare at the concrete ground beneath them. "My dad said he wouldn't pay for my degree unless I studied something more practical." His voice became slightly shaky. "He said poetry was-" Harry stopped, unsure of how to verbalize the next part. 

"He said poetry was what?" 

"He said it wasn't very masculine...." He answered, trailing off, "that it was more of...a fag thing." He quickly finished, staring at the concrete below them. 

Louis stopped walking abruptly and turned to face Harry. He look shocked but after a moment, his eyes grew sympathetic, as he reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder, "Hey, man, don't let anyone use that word to describe you again, okay?" He said, still squeezing his shoulder hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a poet, okay?" 

"Thanks." Harry muttered, barely audibly. 

"And it doesn't make you gay, okay?" 

"Yeah, of course." Harry answered, nodding his head at Louis' words. 

He looked up to meet Louis' eyes again. For the first time in a long time, he realized that someone was genuinely being nice to him. It made him feel strange, yet warm inside. It had been so long since he'd experienced any kind of support or kindness, that he wasn't sure how to react. 

He continued to stare at Louis for a moment as he walked away, too distracted to notice that they were now heading in a completely opposite direction of where they were supposed to be going. 

"Hey, where are we going?" Harry asked, suddenly snapping out of his thoughts. "Aren't we supposed to be going uptown?" 

"I'm hungry," is all Louis said, continuing to walk ahead of Harry. "C'mon." 

"Wait, what?" Harry asked confused. "We can just grab something on the way back home. There's a lot of nice restaurants uptown." 

"Yeah, I know," Louis sighed. "But I'm not in the mood for a nice restaurant." He said, stopping suddenly and turning to face Harry with a grin. "I'm interested in a double quarter pounder." 

Harry looked up, realizing they were stopped in front of a McDonald's. He quickly began to shake his head. 

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." 

"Nope, very serious." Louis smiled, the crinkles by his eyes appearing. "C'mon, rich boy. We're getting some cheeseburgers." 

Before Harry could even open his mouth to protest, Louis turned on his heel and pushed the glass doors open, receiving a dirty look from a couple who were exiting before him. 

"Louis, wait!" Harry shouted, running inside after him. 

Harry nearly had a heart attack upon entering the restaurant. It was more crowded than he'd anticipated, or remembered. He hadn't been inside a McDonald's since he was in college and he'd forgotten how busy they got during lunch hours. 

He got behind Louis on line, looking up at the menu, trying to see if there was anything decent to order. His eyes scanned over all of the choices, each one seeming as disgusting as the last. Before he could even make a decision, however, it was their turn to order. 

"Yeah," Louis began, speaking to the young, "I'll get a double quarter pounder meal. Oh and a McChicken." He said, turning to face Harry, "Sorry, I'm hungry." 

Harry simply shrugged as he watched the cashier punch Louis' order into register. "Anything else?" She asked, looking over to Louis then at Harry. 

"Harry, want anything?" Louis asked, turning around again to face him. 

"No," He answered, shaking his head, figuring he could always eat something when he got home. 

The cashier nodded at him, then reached under the table to get an empty soda cup to give to Louis. "It's gonna be thirteen eighty-three." 

Louis looked over at Harry, gesturing over toward the cashier. "Can you get this?" 

Harry froze. "Are you serious?" 

"Hey man, don't be cheap," Louis said under his breath, looking around the restaurant then back at Harry. "Please." 

Harry looked over from Louis to the cashier who was still waiting impatiently with Louis' soda cup in her hand. "Fine." He answered, giving in. "I'm gonna have no money left now because of you." He began patting himself down, searching for his wallet. He finally found it in his pant pocket, opening it up and skimming past the various credit cards until he found a folded up twenty dollar bill and handed it to the cashier. It had been so long since he'd eaten at McDonald's, he didn't realize how much the prices had gone up in New York City. 

"Hey, I'm gonna go find us some seats upstairs, okay?" Louis said, grabbing his empty cup. "Could you bring my food up when it's ready?" 

Before Harry could even open his mouth to protest, Louis had already headed over to the soda fountain. The cashier shoved the receipt into Harry's hand and he stood there, awkwardly waiting for Louis' order to be called. 

When he finally did hear the number, he pushed passed the crowd of people waiting for their food and reached out to grab the heavy bag. He felt out of place, trying to juggle the large bag, while glancing around the restaurant for Louis. He finally concluded that Louis had gone upstairs to find seats and so he followed suit, making his way toward the staircase. 

Once he got to the top, he spotted Louis, sitting in the far corner of the restaurant, with his headphones in. He was sipping idly on his straw and glancing down at his phone screen in hand. Harry almost smiled a bit at how his tiny legs were dangling off the stool he was sitting on. His feet couldn't even reach the floor. It was sort... _cute_. Of course, he is his little brother, after all, so it's not too weird to think that, Harry reminded himself. 

"Hey," Harry said, not sure if Louis could hear him. But he did, as he took out his headphones and reached for the bag of food. 

"Thanks man," Louis said, immediately reaching inside the bag to pull out the cardboard carton containing his sandwich. "Y'sure you're not hungry?" 

"No," Harry simply responded, taking a seat on the stool next to him, sighing. 

"Suit yourself," Louis replied before taking a bite of his burger. 

The two sat awkwardly for a few moments while Louis ate. Harry was silent, listening to the soft murmurs of conversations taking place around them. He glanced over at Louis occasionally, a bit disgusted at how gluttonous he looked while eating. 

"Oh no," Louis said suddenly, his mouth full of food. 

"Yes?" Harry asked agitated, looking over to Louis. 

"You forgot the ketchup." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I can't eat french fries without ketchup." 

"No," Harry responded sternly this time, tired of being bossed around by Louis all day. "You get it yourself." 

"I can't, Harold." 

"Why?" 

"Because you might get tempted to take some of my french fries and I can't let you do that." 

Harry rolled his eyes before saying, "First of all, I don't want your cheap McDonald's french fries. Second of all, I _did_ pay for your meal, so it's not like it's that bad if I did. But I digress. Now, get your own ketchup." 

"Harry, if you don't get my ketchup, I'm gonna cause a scene." 

Harry scrunched up his nose and turned to face Louis this time, "A scene? What the hell does that mean? Are you threatening me?" 

"Look, Harold, you were the one downstairs who was incompetent and forgot to get the ketchup. Now, you need to fix your mistake." 

"You're more annoying than my ex-wife, you know that?" Harry said, hopping off the stool. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." 

He figured it was easier to just comply with Louis and placate him rather than to keep arguing with him. He wouldn't win, anyway. It was just Louis' personality and he could see that. Visibly irritated, he headed down the stairs and to the ketchup dispenser, filling up three small cups. He made his way back over to the stairs, huffing in annoyance. 

"Here, your royal highness," Harry said, setting down the cups of ketchup in front of Louis. "You owe me." 

"Thanks, Harry," Louis grinned at him, cheekily. "I am forever in your debt." 

Harry only rolled his eyes again, then watched with a grimace as Louis proceeded to pour his french fries into the empty carton along with the ketchup, closing it and shaking it. He set it down on the table and opened it, revealing a big ketchupy mess. 

"Ugh," Harry groaned, looking away as Louis picked up each french fry, one by one, and placed them in his mouth. He looked down at his wrist-watch, checking the time, praying to God his day hanging out with Louis was almost over. 

"So," Louis began, awkwardly, after a long silence between them. "Is it true you had like, a legit nervous breakdown?" 

Harry froze, not sure if he really heard Louis' question correctly or how Louis could be so brazen. "Uh," he responded with hesitation. "...Yeah. Something like that." 

"Hm," Louis answered, licking the ketchup off one of his fingers. "That's tight. I did a stint in Bellevue, myself." 

"You did?" Harry asked curiously, looking up to meet Louis' eyes, the tension in the air easing a bit. The fear he had of being judged by Louis was now subsiding slighlty at his admission. 

"Yep," Louis replied. He took a moment to clear his throat, then leaned back a bit, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie and turning his arm toward Harry, revealing three deep scars across his wrists. "I tried to kill myself three years ago." 

"Shit," Harry said, genuinely shocked. He never knew any of this had happened. "I'm really sorry." He mumbled, lowering his eyes. 

"Don't worry about it," Louis answered, returning to his food. "I'm sure you know what it's like." 

Harry just bobbed his head up and down slowly. The air between them became awkward again as Harry searched for something to say. "So," he began, not sure of what to say next, "did they put you on any medication?" 

"Yeah," Louis said, turning back to his food. "Prozac. Didn't do shit for me, though. Then they tried Seroquel. It was a little better but ya know how it is." 

"Mm," Harry hummed in agreement, turning away from Louis. Sadly, he _did_ know how it was. He knew exactly how it was. That's why he preferred drinking to medication, not that he needed to tell Louis that. 

"Is that why you smoke?" Harry asked, immediately wondering if his question was out of line. 

"Yeah, I guess. I also just like to smoke," Louis responded, shrugging his shoulders. "Eh, it was a bunch of bullshit, anyway. I was upset my boyfriend broke up with me." 

Harry suddenly choked and tried to disguise it as a cough. _Boyfriend?_ Louis had a _boyfriend_? 

His face became dumbfounded as he stared at Louis. How could Des have failed to mention any of this to him. Suddenly, Harry understood what Des' comment about Louis having a couple of screws loose meant. Knowing how homophobic Des was, it was no wonder that him and Louis did not get along. 

"What?" Louis laughed, wiping his mouth off with a napkin. "You didn't know?" 

"No, it's just," Harry said, squirming in his seat slightly. "I just didn't realize." 

"It's alright, bro," Louis chuckled. "I doubt Des was going to tell you. He's not exactly the most tolerant guy." 

Harry nodded his head awkwardly. He inwardly cringed, remembering earlier how he said the word 'fag' so openly, not even realizing he was probably hurting Louis' feelings. He had to be so _careful_ now. He'd never really been around a gay man before, aside from some acquaintances he knew from college, so he wasn't sure how to act or what to say. Luckily, Louis seemed laid back, so he took it as a sign that he didn't take the use of the word 'fag' too badly. 

"What about you?" he asked, taking another sip from his soda. "What meds are you on?" 

"Oh, um," Harry's face burned red as Louis' question brought him back to reality. "Lexapro." 

"Oh, okay," Louis said, nodding his head. "Depression, huh?" 

"Dual diagnosis. Alcoholism and depression." Harry quickly said, not wanting to look at Louis. 

"Oh." Louis answered. "Yeah, y'know that's pretty common." 

"I guess," Harry replied, fiddling with his thumbs. 

"Were you hospitalized?" 

"Only for a few days," Harry said, looking up past Louis' head through a window. "I was released on the condition that I see a shrink." 

"Oh," Louis nodded, taking another sip of his soda. "That's sort of similar to my situation." 

"Yeah," Harry answered, taking a deep breath. "Luckily my dad was able to reason with the hospital staff that I wasn't a danger to myself." 

"Yeah, I see," Louis answered, still nodding. "So, was this before or after you were arrested?" 

"What?" Harry asked. "I was never arrested." 

"My mom said you were." 

"Wait, _what_?!" Harry asked, his voice becoming stressed. "Your mom said that?" 

"She said you tried to kill your ex-wife." 

"What?!" Harry screeched, "That - that is not true, at all!" Harry whispered, looking around the restaurant to make sure nobody was listening along to their conversation. "I can't believe your mom said that!" 

"I'm sorry," Louis answered defensively, putting his hands up. "I wasn't the one who said it!" 

"Yeah," Harry nodded angrily, "and you shouldn't spread the rumor either!" 

"Alright!" Louis voiced, looking back down at his food. "But you were arrested, weren't you?" 

"No!" Harry practically shouted. "I was not!" 

"Louis, please, not so loud!" Harry hissed, scolding Louis again. 

"I'm sorry!" Louis answered in a whisper. "I just wanted to know what happened." 

Harry sighed again, whipping his head around one more time to make sure again that there was absolutely no-one eavesdropping before he turned back to Louis and leaned in close. 

"The truth is," he began, "I was very drunk and we had a fight. I might have said some things I regret but I certainly never tried to kill her." Harry admitted, staring only at the counter top and not at Louis' eyes. "If anything, I wanted to hurt myself, not her." 

"Oh," Louis answered, nodding his head em-pathetically. 

"Yeah," Harry said, bobbing his head slightly. "I was never going to hurt her, okay? It was just a really bad time in my life and it's hard to talk about." 

"I understand," Louis commented, frowning slightly and pushing his fringe out of his face. "I'm sorry I brought it up." 

"No, it's-" Harry starts, taking a deep breath. "It's alright, you're just curious. I get it. But I definitely did not try to kill anyone." 

"Yeah," Louis nodded, "It seemed a bit far-fetched." 

"Well, your mother clearly has it out for me," Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "She's still friends with Mariah and Ryan." He commented, rolling his eyes. 

"Ryan?" Louis asked, furrowing his brows. 

"Yeah, he's uh-"Harry began, clearing his throat. "He's the guy she left me for." 

" _Ooh_." Louis said, grimacing. "Ouch." 

"Yeah." 

After a moment of silence, Louis finally looked up at Harry. "Did you know him?" 

"Yes." Harry answered, solemnly, "He was a partner at my old firm. We all worked together. Mariah was our paralegal." 

"Shit," Louis breathed. "No wonder you were so pissed." 

"Yeah, no kidding," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "We didn't necessarily work together. He was in another division than me - criminal. He's the one who helped Mariah get an order of protection against me. Made me lose my job."

"Yikes," was all Louis could say.

"Yeah, yikes." Harry answered looking down at the tiled floor. 

"Well," Louis began, putting a hand over Harry's. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure they were both..." he trailed off, "...ugly." 

Harry let out a loud laugh, one of the first real good laughs he'd had in an extremely long time. Louis' comment had been completely ridiculous but it _was_ funny, in a sort of cute way that Harry liked. 

After his giggling died down, a prolonged silence fell between them as Louis finished his food. Harry stared into space. He couldn't shake this icky feeling off himself. He didn't understand what had come over him to make him so much information with half-brother so suddenly. He almost felt dirty having shared so much about himself in such a short period of time with a practical stranger - but at the same time there was also a part of him that felt good, a feeling he had almost never felt while sharing the story before. Not with his therapist, not with his Dad, nor with any friends. 

Louis was nonjudgmental. Harry liked that about him. He might've been crazy but he was nonjudgmental and Harry _really_ needed nonjudgmental people in his life.

"Hey," Louis started, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry we couldn't see the game." 

"Eh," Harry shrugged, "I only wanted to go because I thought I'd get to spend time with my Dad." 

"Mm," Louis agreed, taking a long sip from his soda. Suddenly, his eyes got bright, "I love this song," he commented, putting his cup down. 

Harry paused for a moment to listen, suddenly recognizing the song as well but forgetting the name. "This is uh-" Harry said snapping his fingers. "Uh-" 

"-The Cure." Louis answered with a smile. "It's _High_. Very rare song to hear in a public place." 

"Yeah," Harry said, listening along to the soothing beat of the music. He had always been a huge Cure fan but had forgotten just how much he loved their music in recent years. He watched as Louis wiggled in his seat to the song, mouthing the lyrics to himself and allowed himself become lost for a minute to the rhythm. 

"Hey, it's getting late," Louis said, looking down at his phone. "We should get home." 

"Yeah," Harry coughed, snapping out of his peaceful trance. "You're right. You want me to get us a cab?" 

"Nah, subways are open twenty-four hours a day," he giggled, getting up to throw out his tray of food. Harry rose from his seat, buttoning up his coat again to brace for the cold weather. "Hey, Harry?" 

"Hm?" Harry looked up to see Louis standing in front of him. 

"I think you're a pretty cool guy." 

"Thanks," Harry smiled, feeling warm inside. "I think you're pretty cool guy too," he said, biting his lip. "Even if you're a pain in the ass." 


End file.
